First of the Order
by lurker2209
Summary: Rambaldi's young pupil carries a secret that haunts one family until the present day. Sd-1 March challenge winner!
1. Un: Florence

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First of the Order

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Une: Florence 

  


Lucretia Borgia walked into the deserted cinderblock building, breathing a sigh of relief as she walked into the eerie fluorescent light and set down the basket of laundry. She was safe here. Two gunshots sounded in the distance of the New York inner city. Well, safer, at least. She poured soap and clothing into a washer, and inserted the two quarters. Another washer filled the same way…and there was nothing to do but wait. She would rather not be here, but the entire family was working, and this was the only time she could get away to do the laundry. But things would be different once Papa got a real job and their American dreams came true. Now she would say Ave's to pass the time.

Antonio hunched back behind the shelf and listened as Milo Rambaldi tried to convince Fabiono Giotto that his design would succeed while all the others failed. The matter of the Cathedral of Florence might finally be settled. The architect and craftsman's unusual design sounded preposterous to the 10-year-old's years. Who would attempt to construct such a large dome with no scaffolding? But the conviction with which he argued it made the boy root for him to finally prevail. Besides once the matter of the cathedral was settled Signor Giotto might notice his illegitimate son and send him off to school. Anything would be better than the beatings given by Signora Giotto's son Emilio. As Rambaldi expounded on the reasons why Lorenzo Ghiberti's design would fall crashing down Antonio's mind tried to puzzle once again why Giotto ignored him so. 

The reasons why Signora hated him were plain. He was the son of Signor's beautiful Irish mistress, Allene. And Allene had given Giotto a several daughters before her son, while Signora had been childless for years until the birth of her young Emilio. But it did not explain why his Father ignored him so. He'd asked his mother earlier in the afternoon and her answer still puzzled him. 

"Keenan," she'd said, using his Gaelic name, "I am not Italian, you are not Italian. And now that Emilio is born, Signor Giotto has no use for his illegitimate son. But perhaps when the matter of the Dome is solved, he will apprentice you to some craftsman or send you to school."

With those thoughts in mind, Antonio had slipped into the library to ponder his predicament, only to be caught unawares by the entrance of Giotto and this architect Rambaldi. If he was caught here, he would be beaten again, so he pressed his back to the shelf and listened. 

Finally he heard his father say, "You have my vote. I do not see how your preposterous scheme will work, but I am convinced the others will fail. The Dome must be completed and your way may work." A few more words he didn't catch were said before the door slammed shut and Antonio slipped from his hiding face. Right into the sight of Milo Rambaldi.

"And who are you?" the architect asked.

"I'm Antonio, Signor Giotto's bastard son." The boy said quickly. "Will you not tell him you found me here? They will beat me."

"Will they?" the esteemed old craftsman said. "Not this time." Antonio sighed in relief. "So you are a boy who comes here among books and designs unbidden. Do you know where the plans to the Cathedral are kept? Signor Giotto said I might look over them."

"Yes, they're right here." He quickly walked to one the back shelves and pulled a rolled up design.

"Do you really mean to build the dome without supports?" he handed Rambaldi the plans.

"I do, my boy."

"But how?" Antonio stopped himself quickly, asking questions of his elders was generally frowned upon and he'd already asked two. But Rambaldi had no hesitancy to answer.

"By not building a dome. That would be impossible. Instead, we will build 8 cupolas, and join them so smoothly and gradually that the appearance will be equal to that of a dome."

"But wouldn't the winds still cause it to fall?" Antonio was rapidly loosing his caution around this friendly artist. 

"Yes they would, if I hadn't included small holes and fluting. Look here." He pointed to his own design plans. Antonio bent down and saw what the architect meant. He also spotted the large lantern that would mount on top of the dome. 

"Why is this so big?"

"Because it must be. The lantern holds the cupola's together, its weight is necessary, otherwise it would be too unbalance and the slightest wind…" Rambaldi continued to explain the design to the young boy long into the afternoon. When the servants called Rambaldi to dinner they found Antonio with him and began to scold. But Rambaldi simply said Antonio was his new assistant. He proved true to his word, and when work began the next month on the Cathedral, Antonio was always at Rambaldi's side. He brought whatever the architect asked for and listened to every word he spoke. 

* * * 

"Antonio, come speak with me." The boy was startled out of his melancholy by Giotto's request. Rambaldi was leaving tomorrow, the work on the dome completed a month ago, and the 12-year-old was bemoaning his departure. Only the interior remained to be finished and Rambaldi left that to the painters and their frescos. With his mother's death six months ago, he had no other friends in Florence.

"Rambaldi spoke with me yesterday about you." Giotto began. "He said you had a great deal of talent and he was very fond of you. He also asked if he could take you with him when he goes to Venice to work on the palace of Signor Borgia." Antonio could hardly contain his delight at the calm words. 

"I am inclined to let you go with him," Giotto continued. "It would make more peace for this household and provide you with a trade. He even spoke of adopting you. If you wish that, I will sign the papers for it when you return to Florence next year for the dedication. Do you want to leave with him?"

"I do." The boy tried to be calm.

"Then you should pack your things. Rambaldi leaves in the morning."


	2. Due: Venice

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First of the Order

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Due: Venice 

  


Lucretia reached into her bag. Her rosary was a good one; it had been given to her by her grandmother before they left. "This has been in the family many years, treasure it." Her grandmother had warned, and Lucretia did. Her mother said it was silly, the crucifix was a cheap, plastic ornament Grandmother's delusions had transformed into something valuable, but Lucretia ignored her and took care of the treasure. She never let it out of her sight, unless it was stowed carefully under her mattress at home. But it wasn't in her bag. She reached in again to hunt around, but it wasn't there. Dumping out the contents of the bag over the floor did not produce it either. It wasn't in the laundry basket…where could it be?

Antonio lay peacefully in his bed in Venice, exhausted from another day's hard work. They'd spent days poring over the plans for the Borgia palace, trying to figure out what error the workman had made. Something had to be forcing the main beam out of alignment by those precious 5 degrees, but the 15 year old architect couldn't determine what it was for the life of him. He would take the problem to Rambaldi tomorrow. The older man always could see through such things, though Antonio had hoped to be able to solve this problem on his own. The older man seemed so disturbed lately. Just yesterday Antonio had felt as if Rambaldi was staring right through him, not hearing a word the boy said. Well perhaps the answer would come in sleep.

Antonio rose early, as he always did. The walk through Venice to find breakfast was something he always enjoyed. He bought a few hot rolls from a baker, some fresh fish from one of the city's gondoliers. The sun rose as he walked back to the small workshop he shared with his adopted father, not too far from the building site. It was a beautiful morning.

"Signor Pottichelli had more of those honey rolls you liked, father." Antonio said as he set the food on the kitchen table, and rolled up the mat and blankets he slept on. There was no response. Antonio thought it was a bit strange. He always rose before his father, but the man was almost always up when he returned with breakfast. He walked over to the door that led to his father's bedroom and opened it slowly. 

"Father?" The room was a mess. The bedclothes were thrown everywhere, papers littered the floor, and an upturned ink bottle leaked onto many of them. But it was empty. Antonio set the ink upright and left the rest to clean later. 

"Father, are you working this early?" the boy said as he opened the door to the study, the third room in the small house. It was a marvelous place to read or write, with the large south window. Rambaldi was indeed inside, sitting at his desk, scribbling furiously. Antonio thought he heard some sort of reply to his question and slipped in to hear more distinctly.

"A device so powerful, a power no one can stand against. A device so powerful, a power no one can stand against." The muttered words came clear and it was obvious that Rambaldi was oblivious to the outside world. Still, Antonio had to try. 

"Father?" he put a hand on the man's shoulder. NO response. "Father?" he shook the man a little. The pen jiggled a little, but Rambaldi simply continued to write. "Father, can you hear me?" He shouted. "Are you there?" He grasped the older man's shoulders roughly and brought the man's eyes to meet his own. But it was as if the man was in a trance. He did not see Antonio, or the shop. He only started through them and continued to mumble.

"The dreams…they demand it. Power…device so powerful…" The muttered words continued on, and Antonio released his father, who returned to his scribbling. What was this? What was happening? 

Antonio slipped back into the kitchen and grabbed one of the honey rolls. They were his father's favorite. 

"Father, will you at least eat something?" he held the roll in front of Rambaldi, but again there was no response. Certainly the man would have to grow hungry sometime. Antonio set the roll on the desk and slipped back to the kitchen. What was he to do? The foreman would arrive at any minute. A knock at the door confirmed this, and Antonio opened it reluctantly. 

"What are the orders today? The foreman asked. "What does Rambaldi say of the ridgepole?"

"Have the men continue on the east wing." Antonio knew that at least was a safe option. "My father is a little ill. He will stay in bed this week, but I have his instructions on the ridgepole. Let us inspect it." The decision had been made in a spilt second, but there was really no other choice. He would have to carry on, and hide his father's odd behavior for as long as he could. 

What really amazed Antonio was that he found the problem with the ridgepole. One of the marble columns that held up the roofline was an inch too short. A small adjustment of the trusses compensated for the error and the building continued. He slipped home for dinner at midday to find nothing changed. The roll was gone, though, and the glass of water he'd set by his father was half-full. At least the man was eating. He set some of his dinner on the desk, filled the glass and returned to work. 

Over the next month the deception fell into a quiet routine for Antonio. Every night he went to sleep, mind occupied by the palace that was now fully his responsibility, and the old man that sat writing in his study until long after Antonio slept. Every morning, he rose and brought back breakfast, leaving part of it for his father. He spent the day at the worksite, giving orders in his father's name, and explaining that though Rambaldi seemed to be fighting a terrible cough this fall, he was still aware of every detail of the construction process. Fortunately Cardinal Borgia was in Rome, and his steward did not wish to report any problems as long as the Palace progressed as planned. 

Two months passed, Antonio immersed in the Palace, Rambaldi still catatonically absorbed in whatever he was doing. Antonio tried to read some of the pages his father had written, but they seemed to be in some sort of code he could not decipher. Progress on the palace was coming nicely. It would be complete within the week and this was the cause of most of Antonio's concern this evening. When the work finished on the roofline of the central atrium, their job would be finished. Painters and decorators would invade and the architects would move on to another job. But which one? Rambaldi did not even seem aware of the palace, let alone its near completion and their soon to be unemployment. 

"Antonio?" the voice shocked the boy. The workshop had been silent for so long that the sound of Rambaldi's voice seemed alien to the boy. But he recovered from his shock quickly. His father was talking to him!

"What is it, father?" he rushed into the studio. "Are you all right? Do you know who I am?" He asked excitedly.

"Antonio," Rambaldi sounded a little annoyed. The boy wasn't sure if it was a response to his question or something else. "I need these." He handed the boy a list of items written on a scrap of parchment.

"It is night father," the boy pointed to the lit lantern and the shuttered windows, "and the shops are closed. I will bring them in the morning."

"Morning…yes…morning." The old man repeated, mostly to himself and went back to writing. Antonio made a few more attempts to converse with him, but was met with the usual silence. Well at least it was a small victory. 

Antonio brought the materials the next morning. They were mostly herbs, and a few chemicals he'd bought from the alchemist. Rambaldi ignored them until dinner time, but then seemed almost to acknowledge Antonio. He even seemed to mutter a quiet thank you, but perhaps that was Antonio's imagination. Over the next week, Rambaldi recovered slowly. He was still nearly catatonic in the mornings, eyes unfocused, pen scribbling. But he improved as the day passed, allowing Antonio to lead him to the kitchen for dinner and supper. The afternoons were spent in careful sketching, and more requests were made for Antonio to bring things. 

One evening later in the week, as Antonio went over the last set of measurements for the atrium, he was startled, this time by looking up to find his father examining the plans over his shoulder. 

"Ah, the atrium of the Borgia Palace; I shall have to begin it soon." Antonio was too startled to make any reply beyond what first came into his head.

"It is nearly finished, father. The workmen lay the last of the tiles tomorrow."

"What? It is finished?"

"Yes father…look." He opened the shutters of the window to reveal the palace, dimly seen by the lights of Venice.

"You took this," Rambaldi pointed at the plan, "and from it built this?" He gestured out the window.

"Yes father, I hope you are not angry. The Borgias wished it finished, and you have been…inattentive…"

"Could you build this?" Rambaldi pulled the boy over to his own desk and pointed out an elaborate diagram. 

"What is it?"

"That doesn't matter. Can you build it?" Antonio took a closer look at the device, it was surrounded by many captions in Italian, and most of it seemed to make sense.

"I think I could. It seems clear enough to follow."

"Ringraziare Dio, I thought it only made sense to me" Rambaldi looked as if a huge load had fallen from his shoulders, "that I would have to complete it all myself. But if you can help, my boy….if you can help perhaps the pain of the dreams will lessen. Perhaps I will achieve their goal." Antonio hadn't the slightest idea what he meant, but he would take this excited version of his father over the catatonic he'd lived with for the past six months without any reservations.

"You say the palace will be complete tomorrow?"

"Barring any obstacles, yes. The next day at the most." Antonio responded. 

"Then as soon as you are done we will pack for Rome. Only Rome has everything we need."

"Need for what father?" Antonio finally ventured to ask.

"For my project, my final project. Yes, Antonio, this will be my life's work. It will change everything, change men altogether. Science will show us the nature of God. I have the outline, the plan; we must only put it into action."

And though many would have laughed at his father as a crazy old man, Antonio trusted him. The dome of Florence had seemed impossible as well. But his father had achieved that. Perhaps he would change the world.

A/N: Ringraziare Dio is Thank God in Italian


	3. Tre: Rome

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First of the Order

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Tre: Rome 

  


Lucretia quickly moved outside…still afraid of the shadows, but more afraid of loosing her crucifix. She moved slowly down the deserted street, searching the ground. It must have fallen out between the Laundromat and the subway station…it had to have! If it was lost on the subway it was gone forever. She searched slowly, looking through the piles of debris that lay on the sidewalk. One such 'pile' moved when she reached down to look at it, and Lucretia skittered away, hoping the sleeping homeless man didn't have a gun.

Antonio worked carefully at his bench, pouring a molten liquid into a series of small round molds. This plastikos metal his father had given him instructions for was really quite amazing. It melted a much lower temperatures than any other metal, was lighter than even tin, and could be cast very hard. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to manufacture, but it was indeed worth all the trouble. That his father had managed to produce a metal from the tarry oil used to seal the bottoms of ships was a marvel to Antonio. But his life was truly a continual marvel. They'd lived in Rome for the past 6 years, and developed a good pattern. Antonio had learned a little more about his father's dreams, that they were the way he'd been able to see things others missed, and that sometimes he saw things in the future. 

After the first chaotic months the dreams had worked themselves into a pattern, revealing to Rambaldi the specifics of the master plan he'd created. Thus mornings were given over to interpreting the visions. Rambaldi would generally be scarcely aware of the rest of the world most mornings, but he could be roused if needed. Dinner was given to discussion of the day's creation, and Rambaldi would take a nap while Antonio worked on the assembly of whichever device it was being created. 

This plastikos stuff seemed different than the normal. It was a wonderful material, but unlike most of the devices Antonio assembled it did not looked like it fit in this world. Most were normal, everyday things, with special functions, like the music box he'd assembled a few months ago with its encoded tune. This was different; it stood out as unusual, despite the paints Antonio had tried to use to make it more natural. He wondered what the purpose in it was. Rambaldi had been more secretive than usual, telling him very little about the plastikos metal or his intent for the small balls of it Antonio cast. 

A knock at the door interrupted his work and Antonio rose from his desk and went to answer it. He caught a glimpse of the face through the window. Cesare Borgia, the son of his magnificent patron Cardinal Ricardo Borgia. Cesare may have been two years younger than the young craftsman, but he was a great man in his own right, one the artist was careful not to offend, as much as he often wanted to. He'd been sent to assemble some of Rambaldi's machines at siege of Romagna, and Antonio had hated every moment spent in the younger man's presence. If it wasn't for Leonardo, who might have been Rambaldi's bother, Antonio thought he would have gone insane.

"Signor Borgia, you honor us with the visit." Antonio said as he opened the door. "My father is out, but will you come in anyways?"

"Only for a moment…my father wishes to know of the progress on the portrait of him." Antonio sighed internally at his words. His patron was a great man, truly, but his father was not a common artist, the painting took too much time. Time his father preferred to spend deciphering his visions. But he covered his feelings and smiled brightly for his patron's son. 

"It is progressing nicely. You can see it here." He led the man to a corner of his workshop and pulled the cloth off the easel. 

"There is not much progress that I can see." Cesare's suspicious eyes darting between Antonio and the painting.

"The face of a man as esteemed as Rodrigo Borgia requires careful attention to detail… paint cannot be sloppily employed." Antonio said smoothly, in the flattering way he had learned to speak to his betters. It sill grated on him, he was no worse man than Cesare, why should he act like it?

"It will be done by the Feast of the Transfiguration?"

"Of course." Antonio was quick to assure him.

"Good then," he turned away from the picture, having not really examined it closely. It seemed that Cesare too thought the painting beneath his major concern. 

"This is part of the master plan father said Rambaldi was working on?" he gestured towards the Sun disc was made of similar material as the plastikos balls, and designed to work with the clock Signor Donato made for Rambaldi.

"Yes, that is a piece of it." Antonio said cautiously.

"What does it do?" the young count picked up the device and looked at it closely. 

"I believe it is a component of a source of power." 

"Power?" Cesare was instantly intrigued. 

"Energy." Antonio clarified. "Like the energy of a horse...or a waterwheel. Only much, much stronger."

"Energy for what?" 

"Anything, I suppose…but it's designed to power my father's device." Cesare pursed his lips at the word device. Milo had refused to say anything of his master plan, but when he claimed to not truly understand it himself, it was clear that Cesare didn't believe him or Antonio. His eyes said so as he made his goodbyes and walked out of the small workshop. 

* * *

Antonio had wonderful news, at least he thought it was wonderful, but the rumors he heard worried him. He'd ran to fetch the day's water and some food to break their fast as he did every morning, and all about the city the streets were buzzing with the news. He burst into the workshop and woke his father with a shout.

"The conclave has reached a decision. Rodrigo is to be the new Pope." But his master did not seem the slightest bit surprised. Antonio wondered at this, but simply wrote it off to his father's peculiar dreams. They had celebrations to prepare for!

A few days later Antonio walked down the twisted streets of Rome, keeping up a pace with his Father. Rodrigo, or Alexander as he was now called, was celebrating his coronation in grand style. The entire populace of Rome seemed to line the streets for these parades, waiting to catch of glimpse of the new pope in his gilded carriage. The two friends paused to wait for a clear way through the crowd. 

"What's this that's stopping us?" he asked his father.

"Young Cesare, everyone wants to see him." Rambaldi replied with the slightest touch of sarcasm.

"Is his mother that Guilia Farenese?" a matronly woman beside them asked her companion.

"No, she's the Pope's new young attraction. Cesare's mother is Vannozza de Catanei, but he tired of her."

"Well if she looks anything like her daughter, he was a fool."

"Lucrezia is a beauty, isn't she?"

"I heard she's going to be married to that Giovanni Sforza."

"The Milan Sforza's?"

"The same!"

"My, my!"

The crowds seemed to hold everyone up equally, so Antonio and Rambaldi were not late for the magnificent mass the new Pope was officiating. An usher showed them to seats reserved for the artists and craftsman Alexander patronized. The mass continued on, rather long and attended by much pomp and circumstance. The masses crowded into the balconies, pushing and shoving for the chance to see the new Pontiff. At the conclusion of the service, the new Pope walked down the aisle to greet his supporters. As he neared the row in which they were sitting Giovanni saw Rambaldi pull for his pocket a small object. So this was his gift to the Pope. He had wondered what his father would present to their magnificent patron. 

Alexander came to the row, and crossed young Antonio. He then turned to Milo and was presented with an elaborate rosary. Antonio finally saw the purpose of the small beads he'd been patiently working on with no explanation. The plastikos material he'd carefully formed into balls and twisted into string formed the skeleton for the sacred object, and the figure of Christ that hung from the bottom had been carefully cast for the wax molds he'd made. The young man watched in wonder as his master carefully twisted the figurine's head and a small drop of oil was released into the pontiff's waiting palm.

"For anointing oil." The craftsman explained, and the Pope smiled in appreciation for the novel gift. 

"This man, Milo Rambaldi, is to be the chief architect of the Vatican." He proclaimed for all around to hear. Antonio had never felt so proud of the man he called father.


	4. Quattro: The Vatican

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First of the Order

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Quattro: The Vatican 

  


It just had to be there somewhere or her grandmother would be so disappointed that she'd lost it. Lucretia knew how valuable the crucifix was to her family, the precious beads had been used for centuries of prayers. Lucretia poked through more piles of garbage and refuse, slowly working her way towards the subway stop. She was running out of space, and if she'd dropped it on the subway… But Lucretia refused to see that possibility as she crept down the subway stairs, trying to see in the dim. Suddenly she saw, by the tracks, a flash of red and blue. It was there, fallen through the space where the trains met the platform, the sting of beads caught on a jag of cement. She rushed forward, suddenly oblivious of anything else in the station, and reached down for her precious object…only to feel another hand. Her eyes followed the hand up to an arm, and then to a face. The face of a blonde man with striking blue eyes. "Is this yours?" he asked, in a slightly British accent.

"His holiness wishes to see me? Surely you mean my father?" Antonio questioned the messenger who stood at the door of the workshop.

"No, he explicitly asked for Antonio Rambaldi." The messenger insisted. "You are to come to the east door in St. Peter's at 4 this afternoon, alone." 

Antonio calculated quickly. His father was due home from a trip to his home, Mt. Sebacio today, but even if he had left early this morning, he would not be in Rome until nightfall. He would have none of his father's advice in speaking to the Holy Father. Still, what was he to do?

"I will be there." He told the messenger, shutting the door, and sitting down to think. Everything seemed to be falling apart. His father had fallen in some sort of melancholy, while working on his project all the more frantically. Yet, he'd taken the time to visit home, almost as if he would never be able to see it again. Antonio thought Alexander was part of the problem, but he also knew that Rambaldi's dreams had been particularly frightening of late, but how did it all fit together? 

A few hours later, Antonio found himself knocking at the requested east door, still questioning, but determined to do and say as his father would have him. The door opened and a servant appeared

"You are Antonio Rambaldi?"

"Yes."

"Follow me." They wove through a maze of corridors and side rooms. After a minute or two Antonio lost all sense of direction, although at one point it seemed they were underground. Finally they opened a door to a wing of richly carpeted rooms and fine furnishings. One of the doors was opened, and Antonio walked into a richly decorated room. Antonio had seen many fine homes, even built several, but this opulence shocked even him. The fine grain of the furniture, the rich carpets and heavy drapes. The artwork of several masters hung on the walls, including Rambaldi's portrait of Alexander before he had attained the Papacy. The Pope was truly a rich man.

"Antonio." The voice startled him from his reverie and Antonio whirled to see the Pope. 

"My Father," he knelt and place the customary kiss on the Holy Father's hand. As he rose, he saw Cesare Borgia follow his father into the room. The three were quickly seated and Alexander began the conversation.

"So, your father returns to Rome this evening?"

"Yes, I expect him before nightfall." 

"Where was he visiting?" Alexander asked again

"Mt. Sebacio." Antonio was slightly puzzled. Surely Alexander hadn't called him to learn of his father's welfare?

"Ah, yes. His childhood home. I hope the visit restores him. He has been working much too busily these past months"

"Yes, he has." Antonio agreed. "I try to get him to slow down, but he can be very stubborn."

"Yes I know." Alexander said, a strange smile forming quickly on his face. "I'm sure you are of great use to him."

"I try. But it's very hard to get him to sit down and rest recently."

"But what can it be that consumed him so much?" the question was nonchalant, perfectly casual. But when Antonio glanced over to Cesare who had sat silently through the interview, the devouring look in his eyes gave them away.

"I do not know."

"Do you?"

"No."

"Well, perhaps you do not know why he is so concerned, but I think you know what his plan is? What is life's work is? Surely you are not ignorant of that? 

"I-I know parts of it, but I do not know the entire thing." Antonio stammered slightly.

"But you know how to read his writings, you know the code. You could find out, could you not?" Alexander persisted.

"I-I suppose. My father will tell me when I need to know."

"But perhaps you could read it and find out yourself, without him telling it to you. Perhaps you could show us some of the wonderful things you've made for him?"

Suddenly Antonio understood what they wanted. His father's work, for themselves. Just the pieces he knew would be of incredible value. "If you want to see my father's work, then you must ask him!" Antonio expected to start an argument, but Alexander simply nodded placidly.

"You know the Cardinal Sangritori is most concerned about your father's activities." He changed the subject. "If the inquisition finds that your father believes science alone can let us know God? There is no room for faith there." Antonio offered no reply.

"My favor keeps the Cardinal from acting, but if I were to withdraw it…" the Pope let the sentence hang. "You understand the consequences."

"If my father wishes to keep his plans secret, it is not my place to tell them" Antonio said defiantly. 

"Then you will both face the consequences." Alexander said. "Cesare, will you show Antonio the way out?"

Antonio walked stiffly behind the other man, silently thinking of how he would break this news to his father. When they reached the door, Cesare reached for the knob, then hesitated and threw the slighter man against the door. 

"We know your father has found the secret of the greatest power. Surely you see that it could be used to make Italy the greatest land in the world. It must be placed in the hands of the church. 

"Why? So you can rule the world. My father's device will be used by God, but not through the hands of the Borgias." Antonio retorted and pulled away, yanking the door open and stepping out into the dark streets. He walked home in silence, now aware of the danger that pressed on him. No wonder his father had been troubled. If even the smallest of his devices fell into the hands of the enemy… Antonio pushed the thought from his head and walked faster.

He was too late. The small workshop was surrounded by a contingent of his friends, and something about their stance told Antonio that they had been defeated. 

"Lorenzo, what is happened?" He called to their leader, one of his closer friends. 

"The Guard of the Inquisition was waiting as he entered the city. He claimed the protection of the Pope, but they denied it. You must go to them, Antonio. They will listen to you when you say you are under the protection of his Holiness.

"His Holiness' protection is no longer ours to claim, Lorenzo. The Borgias too wish to have my father's designs for their own power. We have no allies but ourselves."

"They took your father to the inquisition prison. He said for you to come to him as soon as you could."

"Then I will go. You are guarding the workshop?"

"We thought it best to protect Rambaldi's designs from those to whish to use them to their own gain."

"Yes, that is wise. Have the guard here rotated and call all of the order to meet here at 7 tonight."

"It will be done." 

* * * 

"Father, I am so sorry." Antonio said as soon as the guard that led him to the cell departed.

"For what, my son, this is not of your doing."

"No, the Pope told me this would be the consequence."

"Ahh…I see." Rambaldi nodded knowingly. "He wished you to betray me? To find the secret of what I am doing and let him have it for his own use?"

"I refused." Antonio said proudly.

"Of course you did." Rambaldi said. "I have given you everything, and even that which the Pope himself cannot grant." Antonio nodded, remembering the bitter liquid Rambaldi had given him and Giovanni Donato to drink

"But in the end, the Pope will win. Or at least seem to." He added as an afterthought. "For even the liquid will not stop the Cardinal's Inquisition." 

"The inquisition cannot stop all of us. The order is being assembled. We will fight!" Antonio protested. Rambaldi could not simply give in. 

"And fight you will." His father said calmly. "But my part in this is finished. My son, do not waste yourself in fighting over my life when my work is so much more valuable."

"I cannot accept that you must die. We will find another way."

"No my son, the trial is over. The execution is tomorrow. My part in this is over and you must see it though for me. Come to the execution tomorrow morning disguised as a simple craftsman among the crowds. Then you will understand why I must die so all can be completed.

"You will not die tomorrow, Father. I will see to it." He rose and headed for the exit

"Antonio!"

"Don't worry father, I will get you out of here." He said, before turning and walking out.

"Oh, my son, must you always choose the hard way?"

* * * 

"You are certain they will take this road?" Antonio asked for the third time, still reluctant to commit the success his plan to the word of an uneducated farmer his father had brought from Mount Sebacio a few years ago of the order.

"Yes," Gino insisted. "My friend Nico was a guard there once. He assured me it was so. The Via San Gregorio is the fastest way to the execution ground that does not use heavily guarded streets."

"Alright then. Draco, Flippio, Enrique, Gino, Leone, and Luigi will wait with me along the road. We will get my father from them, and smuggle him into Luigi's brother's house. You are certain know one knows you are a follower?" He turned to the swarthy young man.

"No one." He replied surely, "And my brother is an ardent supporter of the pope, though he is away on business. His is the last house they will search."

"Then we will wait in the basement of the house until midday or whenever the search is called off. Lorenzo, your group will assemble the caravan. Be sure to pack the entire workshop carefully. The slightest scrap of paper may be invaluable to my father."

"We will leave nothing behind." Lorenzo assured him. "And no one will know what we are doing."

"Good, we will meet you when we can get away from the house and all head for Florence. They will not be so likely as to turn a simple heretic over to the Pope."

* * * 

Dawn found Antonio and his small group of men waiting anxiously in an alleyway along the Via San Gregorio. Rambaldi and his guards should have been on their way to the execution grounds by then. It was only a matter of time. 

"They are coming!" Luigi's voice sounded over the crude voice transmitter Antonio had brought from the workshop 

"You are sure?" Antonio spoke into the simple-looking box.

"Yes, there are seven men, and an old prisoner is among them."

"They are wearing the Cardinal's red?"

"Yes, they will pass you in about 3 minutes."

"Assume position." Antonio gave the last order, loud enough for both Leone and the men near him to hear. 

Within a few minutes they could see the escort themselves, coming around the bend in the road. Antonio threw a small device the size of a potato in front of the guards' path. Immediately a flash went out, and the street was filled with smoke. The guards, startled, looked for the source, and some panicked and ran back. Luigi's group stepped up from their position, letting the deserters flee and watching for the prisoner. Antonio led his own group to block the forward path, and rushed into the group of panicked guards to find his father. But the old man clad in ragged clothes and trembling in the middle of the guards was not Milo Rambaldi. 

Antonio grabbed the nearest guard and threw him against the wall of a nearby building. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?" the bewildered man asked

"Where is my father, Milo Rambaldi?"

"He's dead."

"You lie!"

"He's dead by now." The guard insisted. "He was taken to the Vatican last night…maybe thought the Pope would pardon him. They moved the execution up to dawn. Cesare Borgia ordered us to take this one to the execution grounds at dawn. Probably to clean up the mess."

"No!!!!" Antonio threw the guard against the wall once more and fled in the direction of the execution grounds. But the sight of smoke wafting above the peaceful Italian homes stopped him in his tracks before the guards around the amphitheater could even raise their spears. He was too late. His father was dead. The rescue had failed, faked into believing a decoy. Then he caught a glimpse of a man walking to speak with the guards. Cesare Borgia, who turned a triumphant face in his direction, eyes meeting eyes. This was war.


	5. Cinque: The Villa

****

First of the Order

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Cinque: The Villa 

  


"Yes, it's mine." Lucretia said, strengthening her hold on the rosary's beads. The blonde man only started at her with a simple look in his eye. "So like her." He said softly. Then calmly pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at her. Lucretia's eyes grew wide with fear, but she only grasped the beads harder. "M-my Grandmother…" she stammered. "Yes, your grandmother, and hers, and hers. It has been in your family for centuries." He pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the empty station. 

Antonio felt like weeping as he stood at the window and looked out into St. Peter's Square, and watched the line of ragged prisoners file in. He searched through them, picking out faces he knew, Draco, Enrique, Gino, Leone. They had served him faithfully for the past six years, fighting to keep Rambaldi's objects from the hands of the Pope and his son Cesare. These four had disappeared a few months ago, caught in an attempt to steal back the painting Rambaldi had made of Alexander. And now they would fall victim to a family's desire for power. 

Then, as Antonio watched, unseen, a fifth prisoner was dragged into the square. Lorenzo. His dearest friend and most faithful associate. He had seen the man only this morning, met with him in the underground catacombs that had once been used by persecuted believers. And here he was, captured, a prisoner. His eyes darted around for a means of escape, but a phalanx of soldiers blocked the entrance. Suddenly, he seemed to see Antonio in the window of the side building. Their eyes held for one moment, before Lorenzo was pulled away. He was helpless to rescue his friends. They would die, just like the man they followed. 

Antonio's eyes were drawn to the Vatican windows, where Alexander IV sat with his daughter Lucrezia and son Cesare. Cesare's servant, dressed all in black, stood beside him. It was a dreadful audience. But some of the men saw a hope. Gino, the simple farm boy, looked up at the Pope, earnestly petitioning. Antonio caught a few of his pleading words before a shot rang out. Gino fell dead in the middle of his plea for mercy and Cesare handed the smoking rifle to his servant in exchange for another. The prisoners gasped in fear and horror. A few fell to their knees and begged. Leone tried to pull Draco and Enrique up, urging them to be strong, but Draco was shot through the heart as Leone grasped his shoulder, seconds before Leone fell himself. Another rifle passed from the servants hands to Cesare's and Enrique fell, trembling with fear as the bullet whistled into his head. And Lorenzo stood alone, feet rooted to the same spot, still glaring defiantly at the Pope and his son. Cesare raised the rifle and the retort of the last of the fallen rung through the square.

It rang through Antonio's mind often, and even now, three years later, he could still hear it. Could still smell the singe of the fire that had claimed his father as a heretic, could still see the white face of his friend Luigi as he succumbed to Cesare's poison. It had been a long, bloody war, and Antonio had not forgotten a sing fallen comrade. 

But now the battle was changed. And this new tactic of Cesare and Alexander's baffled him. He understood why he still lived, while everyone he even spoke to died at the hands of the papal assassins. The most valuable knowledge about Rambaldi and his artifacts was in Antonio's mind, and they knew that Antonio would rather shoot himself than be subject to Cesare's torture. So instead they tried to conquer him with fear, hoping that the panic that the killings had caused throughout the city would bring him down. 

And now this change of tactic. Inviting him to dinner, here at the Villa of the Cardinal Adrian Cornatto. What did they mean to do? Certainly they did not seek to bribe him or convince him to join them. That had failed 6 years ago, it would certainly fail now. 

"Antonio Rambaldi." The slightly plump middle-aged cardinal greeted the young man with a smile. 

"Cardinal Cornatto. Thank-you for graciously inviting me into your home." Antonio greeted his host. 

"You are most welcome. Although," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "I am most bewildered by his Holiness' request for your presence here tonight. I did not think he was particularly fond of you, despite his great friendship with your father."

"No, he is not fond of me," Antonio whispered back, "nor do I think he looks particularly favorably upon you, your grace."

"No, I have reason to believe they would benefit if I were no longer on this earth," the cardinal said cautiously.

"Then we must both watch, and be most careful." The Cornatto nodded his assent.

"Are the other guests here?" Antonio asked, in his normal tone. 

"They wait for us in the dinning room." The Cardinal led his guest from the foyer and they walked in. Antonio found himself increasingly wary, and carefully watched their path should he need to escape quickly. 

As they entered the dinning room all seemed to be at ease, but the Pope looked as if he quickly moved his hand to his chest. It was only the slightest movement, but Antonio wondered at it. Was it at all significant?

They sat down and exchange formal greetings. Alexander seemed genuinely happy to see him, but Cesare barely concealed his hatred. 

"Shall we begin?" Cornatto said, hand reaching for his wine. And then Antonio found the explanation to his little mystery. Hung from the Pope's neck was the carefully crafted rosary he had shaped from the plastikos all those years before. The beautiful crucifix with its hallow cavity for anointing oil. Or any other liquid that might be dispended in a drop or two. 

"Antonio? Do you agree that we should begin?" Cornatto's voice startled him from his thoughts.

"Actually," he covered quickly "I was thinking that I have not seen your chapel since it was finished. And since it was based on my father's designs."

"Of course, we shall see it, and then serve the food." Cornatto rose and led the party out to the chapel, pointing out the elegant architecture Rambaldi had incorporated. As he pointed out a lovely icon set into the wall, Antonio bent over to look and whispered in his ear.

"Our wine is poisoned."

"You are certain?" Antonio nodded. 

"I will see to it," the Cardinal murmured as he stood and walked over to a servant. 

When they returned to the dinning room nothing looked different, but Cornatto drank his wine without hesitation, so Antonio followed suit. Conversation seemed a little stifled. Every time Antonio opened his mouth Cesare looked like he was about to kill him, so he decided silence was the best plea. This left the Pope and the Cardinal to talk about Church business, a subject upon which they could never agree. All parties involved were relieved when it was over.

* * *

"Antonio, Antonio, open the door!"

A very sleepy looking Antonio opened the door a few minutes later. "What is it, Luigi? What can possibly have happened at five in the morning?"

"He is dead, Antonio, dead!"

"Who?"

"The Pope. He caught sick last night, and the world throughout the streets is that he is dead. The conclave has gone into seclusion so the rumors must be true."

"And what of Cesare?"

"He is ill, with the same sickness, but they say he may recover after a long time."

"But by the time he is well, there will be a new Pope in the Vatican. Cesare's power came from his father."

"So we are saved, Antonio, saved!"

"Yes, we have overcome this power, but there will be others." He added softly to himself, while Luigi assembled the remainder of the order to celebrate. "But," he added, thinking of the papers he'd deciphered last night, of how he hadn't aged a day since he took his father's liquid, "I have time, plenty of time to face them all and bring my father's works into being."


	6. Fin: New York

****

First of the Order

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Fin: New York 

  


He pulled the crucifix from the dead hand of the young girl's body with an odd sense of triumph. He had been looking for this for a very long time. And it was finally his, with all of its magnificent secrets. And so, one step closer to fulfilling his father's ultimate plan Salvadore Antonio Ruggerio Keenan Rambaldi walked calmly down the streets of New York.

* * *

Thanks to all my reviewers! You guys are so great, and since this is the last installment I thought I'd take the space to thank you each personally

**agentalana/lanabana**What's your Rambaldi story called? Have you posted it, I'd love to read it!!!

**ReeCee**Thanks for the compliment. I've always wondered about Rambaldi, and as much as we learn about what he's created, I think it's also important to see him as a person as well. Or at least try!

**Fanatic482**Thanks for all the reviews. Hope you find the ending as fascinating as the rest, and I'm glad my attention to detail has paid off. And what a prediction!!

**Silly**Well here's the end of it. Hope you find it as wonderful as the rest!

**Screen names are tacky**Hopefully your Sark interest was fullfilled in this fic, and yes he did kill her. Call it a personal vendetta against the family that has festered for generations. 

**Monica** Brilliant, wow! I don't think I'd go so far myself. I think a little of the idea was lost in execution, but aparently enough got through! And no, Lucretia is Lucrezia's descendant. Picture it as a common family name, slightly changed over the centuries.


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